Chapter 4 - The King’s Forbidden Desire

Selene’s mind was a storm of panic, disbelief, and raw terror.

The weight of Valerian’s words pressed down on her, suffocating.

You always return to me.

In every lifetime.

No. That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t real.

And yet, the painting in the locket, the way he had spoken her name before she told him, the unshakable familiarity she felt toward this place—it all whispered of a truth she wasn’t ready to face.

She gritted her teeth and yanked at the golden cuff chaining her to the bedpost. "Take this off. Now."

Valerian’s expression didn’t shift. He simply watched her struggle, his hands folded behind his back, as if she were an amusing puzzle he had no intention of solving.

Selene’s breath came out sharp, her frustration rising. "Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of this?"

At that, he let out a quiet chuckle, low and dark, the sound curling through the room like silk and steel.

"Pleasure?" He stepped closer, each movement calculated, precise. "No, little one. Pleasure will come later."

Selene’s stomach tightened at the way he said it.

The way his voice dropped, the way his silver eyes darkened—like a predator who had no intention of letting his prey escape.

Her pulse hammered. She refused to let him intimidate her. "You’re insane," she spat. "You think you own me? I don’t care what kind of past you think we had. I am not her. I will never be yours."

Valerian sighed, slow and measured, as if this was a game he had played before.

"You fight because you do not remember," he murmured, reaching out. His gloved fingers trailed down her arm, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. "But your body does."

Selene jerked away, pressing herself against the headboard. "Don’t touch me."

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "Do you know how many times you have said those words to me?" His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering, before returning to her eyes. "And how many times you have begged me to do the opposite?"

Her breath hitched.

"Shut up," she snapped, her nails digging into her palm.

Valerian hummed, amused by her defiance.

But then—his amusement vanished.

With a flick of his wrist, he removed one of his gloves, revealing a large, deep scar running across his palm, as if a blade had once cut clean through the flesh.

Selene stilled.

Valerian’s silver eyes burned with something ancient, unshakable.

"You did this," he murmured.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "What?"

He stepped closer, lifting his bare palm toward her face, forcing her to see it.

"You placed the dagger in my hand," he said, voice low, filled with a haunting pain masked beneath cold control. "You made me swear to never stop fighting for you. Even in death."

Selene shook her head. "I didn’t—I don’t remember—"

"But your soul does," Valerian cut her off. "You think this is madness. But tell me, Selene—why does my voice feel familiar? Why do my hands not feel like a stranger’s to you?"

She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words never came.

Because the truth was—he was right.

Somewhere deep inside her, something ached at his presence, at his touch. As if it had always known him.

As if it had missed him.

A heavy silence fell between them.

Valerian’s expression softened just enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"I have searched for you for lifetimes," he whispered. "I will not lose you again."

Selene’s fingers trembled where they gripped the sheets.

No.

She wouldn’t let this happen.

She refused to be some piece in a fate she never agreed to.

Her jaw clenched, her mind racing. If she couldn’t fight him with strength, then she would outthink him.